


To You

by asphaltworld



Category: Andy Shauf, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: High School, M/M, kind of. they're recent HS grads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltworld/pseuds/asphaltworld
Summary: Mac has something he needs to tell Dennis-- in the middle of a party.





	To You

**Author's Note:**

> Almost all Mac's dialog in this comes from this song by Andy Shauf: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nqw2C5vRAtA  
> Something about the specific situation in the song pushes all my goddamn buttons. Listen to it before you read this, if you want.  
> (this seems to be the first fic tagged with his name on ao3 lmao!)

Mac sucked in a breath, then downed his drink. He crossed the yellowish marble tiling of Dennis’s living room to pick his friend off the floor.

“Den, can we talk a minute? I’ve got some things I need to get off of my chest.” His chest was threatening to explode, his heart was acting up and he needed to get Dennis outside and get it over with. 

“In the middle of this party, bro?” Dennis laughed. It wasn’t much of a party, just a scattering of their friends, Dennis’s gross sister, even the guys from Freight Train. Not a very high headcount. Dennis was reclining on the hard floor, yards away from everyone else, leaning back like he was sinking into a sandy beach instead of bruising his bony limbs on the tile. 

Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I know we’ve had a few, and it’s way too fuckin late, but if I wait I might never tell you.” He was talking to the floor more than Dennis. It helped that Dennis was so sprawled out he may as well be an irregularity in the marble. 

Dennis shrugged. He didn’t roll his eyes. “Okay, let’s talk. Lead the way.”

“Can we find somewhere quiet? Let’s go outside, I’ve got some smokes if you’ve got a light.”

Dennis reached into his back pocket, still lying down in that stupid position, and pulled out his lighter. He flicked it on and giggled, though Mac could tell he wasn’t as drunk as that. His hand was steady enough on the lighter. 

“Here, let’s go.” Dennis took his hand, let himself be helped up. He trailed behind Mac into the backyard, not staggering a bit. Mac sat down on a swinging bench, framed by an ivy-covered arch. He forced himself not to think about the staging; there was literally no place in Dennis’s house to go for this that wouldn’t be sappily picturesque, the cover of a romance novel. He lit Dennis’s cigarette and took a breath of the smoky air. It reminded him of his mom. Dennis was doing lighter tricks with his cherished metal Zippo. 

“It’s just that sometimes when I’m by your side, it feels so right. It feels like nothing could go wrong.” The words rushed out of him, like blood abandoning a body. His words hung in the cool air between them, in the well-landscaped backyard. Mac felt an absence in the space in his chest where he’d been keeping them. The moment stretched thin, finally dissipating into nothingness.

Dennis turned to look at him, stuffing the lighter back in his pocket. 

“Yeah, Mac? What’s this about?”

Mac swallowed, aware that his throat was coated with vodka-y orange juice. It was hard to talk all of a sudden. His momentum was gone-- where to go from here? “Uh. Does it ever feel like that to you?”

“Feel like what? I don’t get it, man,” Dennis said, conveniently slipping into his drunkenness. “Why’d you take me out here?”

“I don’t know what I mean. That sounded wrong. Man, I’m just tired, I’m not being weird.” No better way to seem not weird than to give four different explanations, one after another, to a simple question. Fuck, this went bad. He wished he had a drink in his hand to blame this on. 

“I just mean that you’re a good friend. It’s hard to explain, just forget I said anything.” 

There were enough things they brushed off and never mentioned again. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. 

“Mac, what’s the deal with this? Are you gonna tell me how my body keeps you up at night? Is that what we’re leading up to because I need another fucking drink--”

Mac put his arm out to block his way, stop him from going back in and getting drunker. Dennis drunk would be even harder to deal with. He had to fix it before it came to that.

“Oh, get over yourself, I’m not in love with you! It just came out all wrong.”

“Okay, but Charlie’s gonna get jealous when I tell him. How long have you two known each other? He’s the obvious choice. I’m really needing that drink, so I’m gonna go steal some more of my mom’s good liquor.” Dennis brushed past him. “You can join me if you want.”

Another unkind laugh, and Dennis was back in the door. Mac heard him call out to the others after the glass shut behind him.

Fucking cool. Great.

“Yeah, tell the guys and laugh it up, why am I even surprised... Of course it never feels like that to you.” He folded his arms behind his head and stretched out on the grass. His cigarette drooped at the corner of his mouth. He winced at ash falling on his cheek. 

“I guess it never feels like that to you,” he repeated to himself. He could see the stars way more here, in the quiet isolated suburbs. The backyard was huge. He could get lost in it. Maybe he would. He stood up unsteadily, looking for somewhere to go. His eyes lit upon the porch.

Mac climbed the trellis to sit on the roof of Dennis’s porch, alone. Like they’d done together so many times. The glass door slid open below. Its grating sound reached the roof, and Mac buried his face in his hands, dragging his features down like gravity would in a few decades. Now, though, they sprang back up when he took his hands away.

“Hey, Ronnie.”

“Don’t call me that!” 

“I’m coming up.”

“Whatever, bro. Guess I can’t stop you.” He lit a new cigarette with the butt of the one he’d just finished.

Dennis heaved himself over the edge of the roof, next to Mac, much clumsier than Mac had been. His breathing was uneven, and he ran his hands over the roof’s singles, patting them appreciatively. Mac knew climbing always freaked him out a little. There was a smear of dirt from the roof on his white Tommy Hilfiger sweater. Mac knew that sweater well. He’d traced his eyes over the little blue and red trimmings on the seams when Dennis was slumped over in front of him in detention one afternoon. He ruffled his soft sand-colored hair, a pretense of a joke or a friendly roughhousing, something to bug his friend, but Dennis was asleep, and the pretense fell apart. He was just running his hands through a guy’s hair. Mac had pulled his hands back, sat upright in his chair, tried to shrug it off.

“Something wrong with my face?” Dennis asked, interrupting his thoughts. 

“There’s-- you have some dirt.” Mac stubbed his cigarette out on the roof. He didn’t really need the head rush, with Dennis around.

Dennis looked down. “Huh. I sure do. Good thing I don’t have to do my own laundry.” He leaned back on the palms of his hands. “God, look at the moon. Y’know, I had one more slug of the brandy, but I wish I could’ve brought it up here with me. It would be nice, to sit up here and share it with you.”

Mac’s stomach lurched with hope, and his palms dampened but he forced them, numb and clammy, to brush at the front of Dennis’s sweater. “The dirt,” he explained. “Not a good look on white, bro.”

Dennis’s expression was soft and open, something he rarely was during daylight hours. 

“Yeah? Dirt?” His mouth fell open just a little, a boozy expression. “If we came up together, we could maybe take a boombox up here. Get some music playing, some beers, watch the sun set. Or rise, or whatever, shit.” 

Mac was careful to keep most of the joy out of his expression. “Hell yeah, dude.”

“Hey Mac? I gave it some thought, man. And it does.”

“What?” Mac blinked dumbly. 

“C’mere.” Suddenly Dennis was shifting, closer to Mac, moving his hands to Mac’s shoulders. Dennis’s face was close, way too close, until it was so close Mac couldn’t register proximity anymore and there was just the soft heat of his mouth. 

When they broke apart, Mac touched Dennis’s hair, the way he’d wanted to last year before graduation. 

“I’m just running my hands through your hair,” he murmured, a touch of wonder in his voice. 

Dennis laughed. Not at Mac. “Wish I had it that easy.” His nose was at Mac’s temple. “What is this, shellac? I’m afraid if I touch it I’ll never get if off my hands.”

Mac leaned into him, and they leaned back against the roof together. 

“Mac,” Dennis said, breaking their silence. “It does feel like that for me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this song fucking devastates me. i'm not even sure if it's supposed to wreck you as much as it does me. i wanted this to have some kind of god! damn! closure in this fic for that reason.
> 
> andy shauf described this song as his favorite on the album, saying “my favorite song is probably To You, that’s probably my favorite character. just a really earnest... drunk guy.”   
> he also says: “that song doesn’t resolve in a thought, the conversation doesn’t resolve, guy just kinda walks off...”
> 
> thanks andy. hope you never see this! you’re adorable.


End file.
